Travellers (Warriors, Heroes, and Demons Book 2)

by Dave Skinner

  A flash of white from off shore caught her attention. A small boat was out there. It could not be one from the village—all their fishing boats were in the harbour as their crews attended the village meeting and, anyway, this craft was too small to be a fishing boat. She straightened her shoulders, wiped her tears away, and headed back into the meeting house. She had to inform Burton that someone else was coming.

  ***

  Bray saw the village because he was watching for a place to make repairs to his failing boat. Settlements along the north shore of South Lake were rare. This part of the coast was lined with huge limestone and dolomite cliffs that rose dramatically straight out of the water. A stretch of beach where a small craft could be pulled up was extremely rare. Finding a harbour and a village was almost unheard of, but there it was.

  Bray maneuvered the oar he was using as a tiller, a very poor tiller he would have admitted if asked, and directed the small craft away from the shore until the sail sagged, as the wind left it. Quickly he unlashed the rope holding the sail, dropped it, and sprang forward to secure it to the crossbeam. Then he carefully untied his makeshift tiller. It would have been inconvenient to lose the oar over the side and have to fish it out again—inconvenient and embarrassing. He could live without that. He was certain of two things: he had little skill where sailing was concerned, and he was being watched from the shore. Villages that do not keep watch do not survive, but then again, there were far fewer raiders and pirates around since their unparalleled defeat at the battle at Waysley. He tried to look semi-professional as he fitted his oars into place, settled himself, and started rowing for the harbour’s entrance.

  The swells seemed larger as he neared the mouth of the harbour. Their action attempted to throw the stern of the boat first one way and then the other. He had to fight to keep to the centre of the entrance, but once inside the harbour the water grew calm. He rowed towards the wharf, looking around as he went.

  There was a small piece of beach beside the wharf where he supposed boats in need of repair could be pulled up. The wharf itself was made of timbers stretched between piles of large boulders and topped with rough-cut lumber. The length was not great, maybe as long as two of the larger fishing boats currently bobbing in the harbour.

  There were lots of boats in the harbour. Considering that the sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky, he was surprised to see so many at anchor. His experience told him that they should still be out fishing, most of them at least. If one or two had been lucky with a substantial catch, they might be back to unload, but not this many. Fishing villages were never that profitable although this one looked well-tended.

  The village itself was made up of maybe thirty small buildings sitting on a narrow rock shelf that jutted out from the base of the cliff. As he drew closer to the wharf, he saw that the shelf was only wide enough to accommodate a single row of houses, which were stretched out to both sides of a small stream that flowed from up on the cliff face, causing the rainbow that had first caught his attention. The water emptied into a central, well-like structure and then continued out through a channel in the front of the well. The village water supply, he supposed. Most of the buildings looked like houses although he identified a bakery and a smithy located close to the water supply. The final building on his right was larger than the others, and the only people in evidence could be seen through its large windows—a meeting place he assumed by the size and appearance, with a meeting in progress.

  No one was on the wharf, but he was able to tie up without problem. With both ropes tied off on metal rings, and his belongings thrown onto the wharf’s plank surface, he was tidying the excess of his ropes when he noticed a figure exit the meeting house and run towards the pier. Bray was finished with his ropes and standing easily when the runner arrived. The way the figure ran, its build and its haste, informed Bray, well before it arrived, that this was a youth. He identified the runner as a young girl, and he estimated her age at twelve years. Her tunic was thin and worn. Her legs were long and thin and her chest undeveloped, but her face brought a smile to his lips. Her body might not be womanly yet, but her face had left the little girl behind and formed into the beauty of a young woman, with a straight nose above a slightly sensuous mouth full of straight white teeth. Intelligence was obvious in the large blue eyes which were currently appraising him. Bray added more years to his age estimate, a woman in a girl’s body, he decided.

  “Welcome to Rainbow. May the Mother be with you, stranger,” were the first words she spoke. “Our Headman is dealing with a disappearance. He bids you to wait by the city well until he is free. I am to take you there and wait with you… and offer you hospitality.” She suddenly blushed and stammered, “in the form of food and drink, of course.”

  “I would appreciate the hospitality in whatever form it takes,” he responded with a smile. She blushed, but refused to look away.

  Bray picked up his pack, slipped it onto his back, and then picked up his weapons which were rolled in a waterproof otter-skin package. The young woman looked questioningly at that package, but no question was forthcoming. In a larger town, Bray would have taken the time to fasten his weapons about his person before continuing, but that was not necessary here. His sword, quiver and bow may not be readily at hand, but his knives were. He could protect himself against anyone or anything he was likely to meet in a fishing village of this size.

  As they neared the end of the wharf, he asked his guide about the disappearance.

  “Grandmother Adel is missing,” the girl answered.

  “If it is your grandmother who is missing, you probably want to be with your family. I can wait for the Headman alone if you want to go.”

  “She is not my true grandmother. That is just how people refer to her because she is older than everyone else… much older than everyone else. My true grandmother says Adel was old when she was still a girl.”

  “Could she have wandered off?” Bray asked, although he did not see how that could happen. There was no evidence of an easy path leading away from the village, in fact the only obvious path appeared to lead to the mouth of a cave located below where the stream exited the cliff wall.

  The girl shrugged. They had arrived at the city well where a number of large boulders were positioned for socializing.

  “If you will wait here, I will attend to some refreshments,” she informed him.

  He nodded his agreement, and she strolled away to a house three east of the stream. Bray located a large bolder that would serve as a seat and a table, dropped his pack, sat down and looked around. An oven in front of one building identified the bakery, and a kiln identified a potter’s place, each a combination dwelling, both workshop and home. The smithy’s shop appeared to be a business only.

  The meeting house was easily the largest of all the structures, but the construction method looked to be the same. All the buildings had stone walls built without the use of mortar. Frames for windows and doors were rough cut timbers as were the roof supports he could see. Doors were also made of wood while windows were covered loosely with animal skins. The construction indicated that this village had been here for many years, eight to ten generations Bray guessed.

  ***

  The villagers had exited the meeting house, but were still milling around the building. As Adel prepared food, she was able to watch the stranger from her window. She found him pleasant to look upon. He was almost a head taller than her. The sleeveless leather jerkin he wore was stretched tight across a broad chest, and his arms were well muscled. Adel had noticed some scars on them earlier. His face was what drew her attention most. In her limited experience she would consider him handsome; in fact he looked exactly like the hero of her fantasies: longish blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, beardless, square jaw, deep blue eyes, and a smile that made her knees go weak. She took a deep breath that shuddered a little when she inhaled. He was much nicer than the other three visitors from a few days ago. They had made her shudder in a different way.
Their leader had also been handsome, but his eyes and his smile had been cold.

  ***

  Bray saw the girl reappear from the doorway she had entered and make her way carefully to where he was sitting. She carried a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and in her hands a wooden platter contained dried fish and two mugs. Bray helped her unload the items to his stone table. She pulled her eating blade from its sheath at her waist. As she cut pieces of fish and bread, Bray gathered both cups and obtained water from the well.

  “My name is Bray,” he offered.

  “Mine is Adel,” she responded, as she handed him pieces of fish and bread.

  “Was not Adel the name of the missing woman?”

  “Yes, we are both named Adel because we both have the gift of—” she bit off her words and proceeded to eat.

  Bray followed her example. The food was tasty. The fish was spiced, and the bread was fresh. They ate in silence until the portions she had cut were gone. Bray declined her offer of more. Food had been shared; the village had met its obligation to a visitor; custom dictated that he only eat a little, no matter how hungry he was.

  “What gift do you and Grandmother Adel possess?” he asked when their food was finished.

  The expression on her face changed. Her brow wrinkled slightly. Her eye lids dropped minutely. Bray noticed what others might have missed. He suspected she wanted to answer him, but was torn. Finally she must have decided he was trustworthy.

  “We are both known to the little people,” she admitted reluctantly, as if expecting him to draw away or meet her statement with laughter.

  “The little people, how interesting! Which kinds of fay-folk live around here?”

  Looking relieved, Adel, instead of answering his question, asked one of her own. “How many kinds are there?”

  “There are quite a few, actually. I was taught that they are all different types of faeries. We have Hobs and Brownies where I grew up. I once saw Sirens on Maidensland Island, and I have been told that there are Water Sprites in the delta of the Lazy River around Marshtown, but I have never seen them. I have also never seen Far Darrig, Kobold, or Leprechauns, but I am sure they all exist, and probably many more of which we have never heard. So, what kind do you have around here?”

  “I believe they are Leprechauns, or at least I heard someone call them that recently. Our villagers refer to them as ‘little people’. I have only seen them once.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “He looked like an old man with a long beard. At first that is what I thought he was, but then I realized he was much closer, and therefore was much smaller. He was about the size of my brother who was six-years-old at the time. He was dressed in green pants and shirt, a red coat, and a red cap. Does that sound like a Leprechaun to you?”

  “Either a Leprechaun or a Far Darrig, but it is hard to tell because of the colour of the clothing you describe. Leprechauns usually dress in green while Far Darrig always wear red coats and caps. You will have to ask the next time you meet one.”

  “I try not to. I—” Adel stated before she was interrupted by the arrival of two men.

  “Hello, is there something we can do for you, young man?”

  Bray had been watching the men approach. The man leading was large with a barrel chest, thick neck, and knotted arms. He sported a large bristly beard on a weathered face which said fisherman. The second man was smaller and older, but he also looked well acquainted with hard work and sunshine. Bray stood when the larger man spoke.

  “Can we be of assistance to you, friend?”

  “I certainly hope so, sir. My boat’s rudder snapped two days ago during a storm. I was hoping I could find a replacement here.”

  “I thought it might be something like that, so I brought our wood smith with me.” He indicated the second man. “This is Tad. My name is Burton. I am the village leader.”

  Bray introduced himself and shook hands. Both men’s hands were strong with sure grips although Tad’s were bent slightly when he relaxed them. Bray wondered if it was the results of shaping the wood, or age.

  “Shall we take a look at your boat to see if we can help?” When Bray bent to pick up his packs, Adel spoke up.

  “I can watch your things for you,” she offered.

  Bray handed her his backpack, but kept his other package with him. This action gave rise to a knowing look shared by Burton and Tad.

  “Thank you, Adel. I appreciate it,” Bray said, and then followed the two men towards the wharf.

  As they walked, Burton nodded at Bray’s weapons in their otter-skin wrapping, “Fighting man, I take it.”

  “I have fought, but it is not an occupation if that is what you mean. I am a Traveller.”

  “How do you make a living?” Tad asked.

  “Usually doing any work I can find. I am happy to trade labour for food, lodgings, or whatever else I need.”

  They arrived at Bray’s boat. Tad stepped down into it carefully without Bray having to forewarn him. The boat was old and worn, and there was water in the bottom, but had made it through the storm. He had traded five days of wood chopping for it because he had been tired of walking. The boat had started leaking the second day out, not enough to make him worry, or at least not worry a lot. Tad made his evaluation quickly.

  “This boat will need re-chalking as well,” he stated. “I can fix you a new rudder. I have the necessary wood cured. How will you be paying for the work?”

  “I was hoping there were some tasks you might need help with,” Bray answered.

  Burton took over the bartering as they walked back towards the well. “If you are any good with those weapons, there is something you might be able to do for us. An old woman who is very important to our village has disappeared. There were three men here for the last two days, but they were also gone this morning. We think they took her.”

  “Why do you think they took her, as opposed to her having wandered off?”

  “Grandmother Adel would not wander off. She is old, but she has all her faculties. There was also a suggestion of something not right in her home. Nothing was broken, but her walking stick is still in the house, and she refuses to go anywhere without her stick. Also, the only exit from the village is through the cave that leads to the top of the cliff. It is too difficult a climb for her these days without someone to assist her.”

  “Why would three men take an old woman away from her home?”

  Bray waited but Burton’s answer did not come. Bray tried a different question. “Young Adel told me that she and Grandmother Adel share a gift. Does that have something to do with your theory?”

  “Negotiating with the little people is the gift that the Adels share. Young Adel has been warned about idle talk on this subject, but she cannot seem to understand that some people are not to be trusted. She mentioned it to a stranger who stopped here a few moons ago, and then these latest visitors seem to already know about it. They were asking questions about Leprechaun gold right from the start. I am surprised Adel mentioned it to you. I scolded her last time, and some other villagers have already blamed her for Grandmother’s disappearance.

  “Putting blame aside, we need someone to go after the men and get Grandmother back. We can send two men with you to help in the fighting, but this is a fishing village. The men who took her were all armed, but this whole village has only a few swords and bows for hunting we—”

  Burton was interrupted by what sounded like a vicious animal fight coming from the top of the cliffs above the village. Bray’s mind catalogued the sound as canine, dog maybe, or wolf. Whatever it was, it was angry.

  Chapter 6

  At the top of the cliff, Wolf Blackheart stood, the old woman lying in the dirt at his feet. He had carried her, draped over one massive shoulder, for the whole trip through the caves. Not a problem for a man with his enormous strength except for the closeness of the cave in places. Her hands and feet were tied, so she had to be carried. She was gaged and drugged as well. Wolf Blac
kheart was a careful man. He planned everything to the utmost degree. This attention to detail was what had allowed him to always succeed in every twisted scheme of theft and deception he attempted, even when killing was required.

  It was his obsession with careful planning that kept the old woman drugged, tied, and gagged. Other powers she might possess were unknown, and there was no reason to let her speak or make unnecessary movements. He had once seen a wizard pluck a knife from another man’s sheath and plunge it into the man’s throat with nothing more than a casual gesture of his hand. Wolf Blackheart took no chances, even with old women—especially women with strange witch-like abilities.

  The dog attacked his men’s spears again as they tried to force the beast to the back of the cage. Its ferociousness surprised him. A week ago, when he had locked the creature into the cage, it had been nothing more than an overly-large, mangy, mutt. Now, after a week with little food, and constant torture by jabbing spears, the animal was completely mad. When he had returned with the old woman, he had set his men to moving the dog’s cage into position. One man had gotten too close and the animal had torn an arm off. Unable to stop the bleeding, Wolf ended up killing the fool. Now, after this venture, he would have to recruit someone else to his crew. Maybe he would try to get someone just a little smarter this time. It might save him some effort over the long term.

  The men were finally managing to muscle the cage into position at the cave exit. Wolf smiled. He wished he could witness the look on the villagers’ faces when they came across the dog in the cave. Well, if he was lucky, he might hear their screams, but that would depend on how soon they sent someone after him and how soon his men got the cage positioned, which was taking longer than it should. He yelled at the men to motivate them.

  This end of the cave was accessed from a small gully that water had eroded out of the earth over the years. The gully was as deep as he was tall, but only slightly wider than his shoulder span. In some places it was even tighter, and his men had to chip away at the walls in those places to move the cage past. Once in place, the cage would effectively seal this end of the cave until the villagers managed to get some tools up here to help them dismantle it. That, and meeting the dog in the cave, was going to stall any pursuit for days, he hoped. A man could not make it between the bars of the cage. The openings were too small. The end wall of the cage would have to be broken by a smithy, and the narrowness would make it difficult to swing a hammer properly, in the same way the narrowness of the cave would make it difficult to swing a sword. Whoever met the dog in the cave was going to be sorely surprised.